


Through the Runway

by ohssens



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, This is kinda long, model tzuyu, photographer chaeng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohssens/pseuds/ohssens
Summary: All her life, Tzuyu has been a blank canvas. Porcelain-white, clean, and untouched. Chaeyoung changes that.
Relationships: Chou Tzuyu/Son Chaeyoung, Minatozaki Sana/Yoo Jeongyeon
Comments: 22
Kudos: 156





	Through the Runway

All her life, Tzuyu has been a canvas. Porcelain-white, clean, and untouched. 

This is especially what Tzuyu has learned to be during her time as a model, atop the basic requirements: confidence, knowing how to walk, taking care of her skin and hair. But being a model wasn’t just about looking good, Tzuyu has also learned. It’s also about standing out.

  
  
  


_“Fierce! A bit more elegant!”_

  
  
  


_“Sexy!”_

  
  
  


_“Smile a bit!”_

  
  
  


Hence, all these compulsory commands yelled at her by various directors and photographers, she must follow. And then she will be marketed to the world as the person– no, as the model– she was captured as during those milliseconds, in the tiny window of time between reality and permanence. 

It felt awful at first, having to strip herself void of any personal colors to become the canvas she is today. But modeling, she has learned, is also about letting people paint all over you.

When she was announced to be the first Taiwanese model to walk through Seoul Fashion Week, she was exhilarated, of course, but it seemed that other people’s happiness had to come before hers, and she had to wait their joy out until she could experience it for herself. Because they were all onset for a shoot when they had found out, her hairdresser was moved to tears, and Luhan was so happy he couldn’t even talk. Elkie, who had also been casted but not called back, was the first one to call Tzuyu up on the phone, also crying, voice muddled with overwhelm: _“I’m so happy, I actually feel like I’m walking that runway through you. Thank you.”_ A lot of people tell her that, actually.

She thinks of these thoughts in present as she fixes her eyes on the floor, her makeup artist carefully applying mascara on her curled eyelashes. Another makeup artist is applying a glittery tint on her lips; she can feel its dense particles on her philtrum– whatever color it is, she doesn’t know yet. They’re mutedly arguing over which eyeshadow to apply while Tzuyu pretends to be half-asleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


There are multiple heaters inside the set of the shoot, cranked all the way up that the air is stuffy and she can’t breathe properly. Tzuyu normally wouldn’t complain, but she knows she can’t either way, because it would have been freezing cold otherwise. Being a model is also about being resilient. 

She’s being photographed for a traditional brand of chocolate. Tzuyu remembers looking at it through the glass of a candy shop with curiosity when she first arrived in Korea. Enticing with its packaging, yet unattainable with Tzuyu’s then unfortunate, measly allowance. But it’s alright; she wouldn’t have bought it anyway. The anxiety of speaking a foreign language in a foreign land somehow turned her into a nervous wreck when she spoke Korean during her younger years.

There’s a part of her that still feels the same today, but of course, she doesn’t let anybody know that.

She stands straight, looking around as she waits, but then the photographer arrives out of nowhere: a short woman with a black bob-cut and an oversized leather jacket. It’s refreshing to have a woman photographing her than a man, Tzuyu thinks. It’s less pressuring that way. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“The world would be a much better place if all cameramen and photographers were just women.” Tzuyu suddenly says in the car. 

Her manager, Luhan, laughs while he drives her back home. He’s gotten to know her well now, both being native Chinese speakers in a foreign country. 

“Why do you say so?” Luhan asked. He’s still driving very carefully. “Is it Chaeyoung?” 

“Who?” 

“Oh, Chaeyoung. Your photographer for today. She’s freelance but she’s really good.” Luhan curtly tells her.

So that’s her name. And Luhan’s right; Chaeyoung _is_ a good and professional photographer. Tzuyu was comfortable the entire time, and the shoot itself went pretty smoothly. 

She was able to talk to Chaeyoung afterwards, too, and she finds that Chaeyoung is interesting, although they had only conversed about the simplest of things, so much so that Tzuyu was not able to ask for her name. Still, she’s articulate with her words and seems perfectly genuine. She’s different from the other photographers Tzuyu has worked with. For a while, Chaeyoung made Tzuyu forget that shooting was part of her job. 

“I was actually a bit surprised Lotte got her.” Luhan continues. “But then again, she’s done shoots for GQ too. Talent is undeniable. But how do I say this… she’s very…uh, _controversial._ ”

“What do you mean?” Tzuyu asked.

“She’s been rumoured to have gotten into relationships with a few influencers and idols, both male and female… her relationships don’t last very long either. A few companies have tried getting her to sign with them but she always rejects them. Wants to stay freelance. Seems like the rebellious type. She just graduated recently I think, ‘cause she’s really young.” 

“How do you know?” Tzuyu spoke after a while. “And what does that have to do with her as a photographer?” 

“Nothing, they’re just rumors that go around.” 

“How come I’ve never heard of them?” 

“I’m pretty sure you hear similar things, just about other people. Idols, actresses, influencers…”

“Right.” That was all Tzuyu said.

“Just that models don’t care about photographers’ private lives. Why would there be a reason to know? They’re behind the camera, unlike you guys.”

Tzuyu’s not quite sure what Luhan’s trying to say, but she simply agrees because she’s too tired to do otherwise. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tzuyu still thinks about arranging a shoot with Chaeyoung after that, but she eventually forgets about it because that’s not part of her job.

Besides, she’s _really,_ really busy. Right now, she’s in the car, on her way to a shoot with one of Japan’s best ballet dancers, Myoui Mina. They have both been booked for a clothing commercial. Thirty seconds of airtime.

Luhan tells her they’ve been paired because Korea wants something “different”. That’s his way of consoling her, or sugarcoating the entire industry to Tzuyu, which he somehow thinks works because he’s 9 years older than her. Of course, while Tzuyu knows better, she keeps that knowledge to herself. Tzuyu also knows it’s partly because the public had recently discovered her talent for dance, after she was dared to do so in a variety show on national television, by old men she will never speak to behind closed doors and only in front of large cameras and hanging microphones.

Tzuyu’s agency had media-played her for a while after the incident. They pushed for various titles that would have seemingly made her appear more well-rounded, more charming, more _consumable,_ as if they had struck a newfound asset in her, which they did. It’s almost sinister, Tzuyu secretly wishing they had never found out. 

But the discovery, both a blessing and a curse, has undeniably led to this precise moment. 

  
  


_“Tzuyu, wake up. We’re 15 minutes away from the set.”_

  
  


Luhan’s voice suddenly disrupts Tzuyu’s quick nap. He’s carefully driving her through the busy streets of Gangnam to the set of the shoot. It’s less than a kilometer away, and he can see the building from where they’re driving, but it’s still awfully traffic.

“But that’s still in 15 minutes.” Tzuyu grumbles, not bothering to lift up her sleeping mask. 

“But you have to be awake, and greet everybody there. You know, they might get the wrong idea if you go in there all groggy…” Luhan says with a smile on his face. “Besides, we don’t want you walking in there looking puffy, so you can look your best in the shoot.” 

“Fine.” 

  
  
  
  
  


On set, Tzuyu finds that Mina is, first and foremost, prettier in real life, and secondly, not as timid as she thought she was going to be. She speaks Korean pretty well too, albeit only having done promotions in Korea for a year and a half. She’s 2 years older than Tzuyu but it’s amusing how Tzuyu has to bow down to look Mina in the eyes, and how Mina falls apart when Tzuyu stares at her for too long. 

The shoot is for a sports-streetwear brand. Tzuyu is supposed to model the streetwear, while Mina the sportswear. It’s the first time in so long that they’ve tied Tzuyu’s hair in a bun that it kind of excites her, having all that mobility. By the end of it, she jokingly asks if they can take a jump-shot of her but the director of the shoot agrees anyway.

When Tzuyu finishes her shoot, she stays for a while to watch Mina have hers. Mina seems really happy with the tennis skirt they made her wear, bouncing on her toes as she walks to the set. As the staff makes last minute fixes on Mina’s bangs, Tzuyu wonders what color she’d want for herself in the next few months. 

Not that she can actually do it herself, of course. It’s just a passing thought.

  
  
  
  
  


“You know, I’ve been such a fan of yours ever since your debut.” Mina politely reveals in the dressing room after the shoot, obviously after much contemplation. 

“Thank you,” Tzuyu shyly smiles, and even if she’s been a fan of Mina too, she doesn’t say it. “And I assume this isn’t your photoshoot.” Tzuyu says instead. “You looked so comfortable having yourself taken.” 

“You’re right,” Mina says. “I’ve done a few shoots in the past, but only with small photographers. They were fun so I think they made me comfortable with photoshoots in general. No scary executives or judges or....” Mina paused after she realizes the possible disrespect. “Sorry,” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I totally get you.” Tzuyu smiles at Mina, “In fact, I’m kind of jealous.” 

_“Jealous?”_ Mina asked curiously.

“Well... I had to go through all of that, both in Taiwan and in here. It was scary, but it’s okay. I enjoy it now.” Tzuyu smiled.

It’s easy to talk about it now, but she couldn’t even bring herself to do so in the past without tearing up. The training itself was difficult, but the homesickness made everything worse. But now she just laughs because the memories are from such a distant time. She was still so juvenile then, affected by all these photographers, directors… 

“I see.” Mina replied.

Tzuyu doesn’t have anything left to say, so she simply smiles back and lifts her phone after she sees a myriad of doting notifications on her lock screen. She had just posted a selfie with Mina on Instagram, hence the sudden influx of attention. And she always tries her best to reply to every single fan message. 

Later on, she’s mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when she suddenly remembers something.

“Mina, who were your first photographers?” Tzuyu asked.

“Oh,” Mina replies, eyes eager. “It was only one person. Her name was Son Chaeyoung.” 

_Son Chaeyoung._ Tzuyu hasn’t heard that name in months. “Like, the freelancer photographer Chaeyoung?” 

“Yes, her! Have you done shoots with her as well?” 

“Yes, but just once.” _She’s charming._ “Maybe I should contact her…?” Tzuyu asked more to herself. “Would you, by any chance, have her number? I’m interested.”

She actually already has Chaeyoung’s business number after her own personal research on the night of her shoot with Chaeyoung, obtained from Chaeyoung’s own business website. But she asks only for solid evidence to Luhan, or to herself, or the world, that yes, _Mina gave Tzuyu Chaeyoung’s number._ _No, Tzuyu did not come to shoot with Chaeyoung after googling her. Because, right, Mina gave Tzuyu Chaeyoung’s number._

Mina’s eyes widened. “Oh. Y-you also like girls?” 

Tzuyu looks as confused as dumbfounded as Mina is for a few seconds until she understands the misinterpretation. She laughs, “No, no, I don’t. Sorry. I was talking about her business number.” 

Mina simultaneously gives her a look of disappointment and a sigh of relief. “Oh, okay, okay. Sorry for the confusion. Here it is,” 

Tzuyu is still laughing inside but she keeps a neutral face. God, that was so funny. 

Mina slowly reads out each digit of Chaeyoung’s _business_ number on her phone, and Tzuyu nods as she pretends to type it out. It’s actually already saved in her contacts, and all she does is add a question mark on Chaeyoung’s saved name on her phone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tzuyu nervously paces around her apartment with her phone in her hand. Her half-eaten breakfast has gone cold on her small dining table.

The first half of her morning is spent carefully crafting a text message to send to Chaeyoung, expressing her interest in having another shoot with her. She doesn’t really know if she’ll send it or not, because she’s never done this herself before. It was always Luhan or the other men in her agency.

The other half is now spent in hesitation and distress, walking around her living room in circles, her thumb hovering over the _Send_ button on her phone out of indecisiveness. 

It’s not that she’s scared, really… actually, she doesn’t really know exactly what she feels, and why she’s even so nervous in the first place. She wants to do the shoot again, but at the same time, how? Her schedule is packed. And if Luhan finds out that Tzuyu has contacted Chaeyoung on her own, he’ll probably get mad. She’s not supposed to do this, but she’s so curious that she can’t help it.  
  
  


After a few hours, Chaeyoung replies professionally. She asks Tzuyu what kind of shoot she wants, and if she has any place in mind. 

It should be expected, really; after all, Chaeyoung _is_ a photographer. The ironic thing is that Tzuyu is a _model_ and she was never asked these questions before. She is merely placed in different kinds of sets with photographers and she is expected to show them what they want to see and be what they want her to be. 

Tzuyu doesn’t have anything in mind so she doesn’t reply, but Chaeyoung reaches out anyway after a few weeks.   
  


She calls Tzuyu one afternoon during a hairdresser appointment.   
  


Tzuyu had stared at herself first in the mirror, her hair carefully wrapped in a towel. And then she stared at the ringing screen on her phone, all in utter disbelief. She genuinely believed Chaeyoung wouldn’t bother anymore because she didn’t, but there she was, phone ringing on her lap. She takes the leap of courage and answers it anyway.

“Hello?” Tzuyu answers her phone. Luhan inconspicuously peeks at her from the waiting area of the salon. 

“Hey, Tzuyu, this is Chaeyoung. You mentioned you were interested in having a shoot?”

“Right.”

“Where would you want to have it?”

“Um,” Tzuyu pauses and purses her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m actually not sure. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“That’s fine,” Chaeyoung laughs on the other side of the line. “I actually have a room in my apartment for shoots, if you want. With all the equipment ready if you’re interested.”

Tzuyu’s brain short-circuits inside. But she automatically says, “Yes, I am, uhm, we can talk about it in person too... if you’d like?”

“Of course,” Chaeyoung says.

They talk about their schedules for a while, and Tzuyu says she’s only available on Sundays now, if that’s fine by Chaeyoung, which she is. They eventually decide to talk it over dinner the next Sunday. 

When Tzuyu ends the call and puts her phone back down to her lap, Luhan is behind her. He asks, genuinely curious, “What was that?” 

“I don’t know.” She stares blankly on the phone in her hand.

It’s easy to get a good table, even at packed restaurants in Hongdae, when you’re one of Korea’s most famous models. 

Tzuyu usually gets the same table every time she comes here, whether it be with Luhan only, or with Elkie and the other girls. It had been a while, but the small round table shoved tightly in the corner was still familiar to her– the uncomfortable heat of the barbecue restaurant, the fumes’ smell that would cling to her hair until a thorough wash, despite wearing a cap... 

“What about natural light geometry?” Chaeyoung prompts when they sit down.

Right, they were here to discuss the photoshoot details; Tzuyu shouldn’t get too comfortable. She started to grill the galbi as Chaeyoung filled both their tiny metal cups with water.

“Oh. I haven’t done a lot of photoshoots with natural light… actually, I barely do photoshoots outside,” Tzuyu thoughtfully said. She got each of them a pair of chopsticks. “So that sounds interesting.” 

“Why don’t you do photoshoots outside?” 

Actually, she hasn’t spent much time outside in so long. It was always indoors (although, _indoors_ was not limited to the comfort of her own expensive, precious apartment in the heart of Gangnam); in filming sets, in fashion runways, in airports, in galas. She misses it a bit, the _outside_. But because everybody recognizes her– which she’s grateful for, to some extent– the impromptu trips to the convenience store after midnight; the casual eating of street-food along Hongdae… they’re all gone now.

“Probably because they aren’t in line with my image,” Tzuyu picked up a piece of meat off the grill and chewed it carefully. She put some on Chaeyoung’s plate afterwards. 

“Thank you.” Chaeyoung said. “Like a modern, chic, elegant city girl?” 

“Something like that,” Tzuyu shrugged. 

“But what do _you_ prefer?”

Tzuyu thought about it. Chaeyoung didn’t seem to be in a rush for an answer, so Tzuyu leaned back against the wall, because it was definitely something to think about. But then she remembers the clean, white canvas, and remembers that it has stripped herself of any personal colors, preferences included, because that would definitely get in the way of her career.

“Nothing, actually. Any is fine.”

Chaeyoung nodded in understanding. “So you kind of just want to see where things would go?” 

“Yes.” Tzuyu agreed. “It’s always been that way.”

“What way?” Chaeyoung asked.

“Just seeing where things would go.”

Chaeyoung looked at her curiously. “Like how?” 

“Like, when I go to the hairdresser and I sit down and fall asleep. Then suddenly I wake up with red hair.” Tzuyu explained.

“Oh. I think that’s alright,” Chaeyoung laughs. “If that’s what you like. You should just do whatever you like, you know? Green hair, red hair, orange hair, rainbow hair… who cares,” 

“No, thank you. I think I like red hair.” _Or my management does, rather._

“Then that’s good for you.” Chaeyoung picks up the piece of meat from her plate and chews it delicately. “I like that.” 

Tzuyu’s ears felt warm. “Thanks.” 

Tzuyu is quiet for a while. The good thing about Korean barbecue is that if you don’t have anything left to say, it’s not really awkward: just cook. 

But Chaeyoung talks again anyway. 

“You know,” Chaeyoung says, “that reminds me of the time I visited my mom for lunar new year with an undercut. _I surprised her with an undercut._ ” 

Tzuyu blinks. “A... what?”

“An _undercut.”_ Chaeyoung chuckles. “I literally had the lower half of my head shaved off.”

Tzuyu paused. She looked at the ceiling in an attempt to imagine Chaeyoung’s partly bald head, then she wrinkled her forehead in confusion. What did that even look like, and why would anybody in the right mind… 

“So… did she like it?” Tzuyu carefully asked.

Chaeyoung almost spat out her drink in laughter. She got a napkin from the tissue container, and held it against her lips for a while, her face scrunched up as she regained her breath. 

When she finally swallowed the water in her mouth, Tzuyu was looking at her anticipatedly, because she was genuinely waiting for Chaeyoung’s answer. 

And when Chaeyoung was able to breathe again, she asked Tzuyu comically, “What do you think!?” 

“Yes?” Tzuyu confusedly answered, half-afraid she would offend Chaeyoung. 

This may be, perhaps, the most puzzling moment of Tzuyu’s week. 

_“No!”_ Chaeyoung said, giggling. “She hated it. She told me not to come back home until I grew it out, even if it wasn’t so obvious when my hair was down. That pissed me off so I packed up and went back to my apartment. Then the next morning she called me and told me to come home. So I packed up again… and went home.” 

Tzuyu laughs because her mother would probably do the same. “That’s funny,” 

“It really is,” Chaeyoung says, still regaining her breath from laughter, and from almost genuinely dying of dysphagia by Chou Tzuyu. 

“Would you like some soju?” Tzuyu asked.

Chaeyoung smiled, now calm. “Yes, please.”

“Do you drink a lot?” 

“Sometimes. It depends. But usually when it’s cold. You?”

Tzuyu winced, thinking about the taste of alcohol. “No, not really.” 

Soon after, Tzuyu finds out that Chaeyoung is horrible at grilling meat, and that she should stick to refilling their beverages instead because Tzuyu definitely does not like eating anything burnt. 

Chaeyoung refills her own cup with soju from time to time, but not Tzuyu’s, because she barely drank from it. It had been a while since Tzuyu has drunk any alcohol, and drinking some today made her remember how much she disliked it– _both_ burnt meat and alcohol. But she will endure those for Chaeyoung today, she thought to herself; it would be a funny story to tell Chaeyoung in a few weeks, if ever they see each other again.

Tzuyu also finds out that what Chaeyoung lacks in her ability to grill, she makes up with the strength of her liver, seemingly made of some indestructible kind of solid metal. It’s impressive how she goes through a bottle and a half of soju so easily. (The whole bottle is hers, and the other half is Tzuyu’s. She doesn’t want it anymore.) 

“Chaeyoung, can I ask you something?” Tzuyu asks later on.

Chaeyoung blinks at her slowly, hazy. “Sure.”

“Why’d you decide to become a photographer?” 

“I like taking pictures.” She smiles. 

Tzuyu’s face turns straight and it makes Chaeyoung laugh. “I’m serious.” 

“Okay, jokes aside, I think photography is an art… It allows me to express myself, uh, unselfishly, if that makes sense?” Chaeyoung stares at the raw meat on top of the grill. “Like, I am putting pieces of myself out there… without having to make my audience create spaces for _me._ If I wrote novels, that would be a piece of myself people would have to _read_ into. It would take them effort to appreciate my work, which gives _me_ gratification. But it’s totally different with pictures, I think. Sometimes they’re just meant to be looked at, but it’s still a form of expression for me.” Chaeyoung finished. She’s kind of drunk now. 

“You seem passionate about expression,” Tzuyu offhandedly said.

“Because it’s a privilege to me.”

Tzuyu looked at her curiously. “How?” 

Chaeyoung let out a sigh, “I went to art school against my family’s will, so… yeah. We don’t really talk about it anymore. I guess they’re pretty disappointed.” 

“It shouldn’t be like that.” Tzuyu dejectedly said. 

“Yup. But it is,” 

“Well, at least it’s nice you’ve found your niche. Especially being freelance and all that. I mean… that’s what I’m assuming… right? There’s more freedom to it,” Tzuyu treaded on her words carefully.

“Of course!” Chaeyoung laughed. “That’s really it. I’d hate to work in an agency, seriously.” Chaeyoung scrunched up her eyebrows, sinking into her seat. From this angle, it looks like she’s drowning in her parka. “I hate all those big companies. It gets my blood boiling to think about how greedy they are. I’d never want them to taint my photography and direct me the way they want just so they could get more money out of me. No. I would never do that.” 

Tzuyu coughs. It’s kind of funny but she doesn't really say anything. “Uhm.” 

_“Oh my god.”_ Chaeyoung’s eyes widened in realization. That’s exactly what Tzuyu was doing: being directed, all the time, in a big agency. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way!” 

Tzuyu laughed. At this point, it doesn’t bother her anymore. Besides, she enjoys her job anyway. And from a financial standpoint, which she never really thinks about, it’s all worth it. “It’s fine.” 

“Sorry.” Chaeyoung let out a sigh of relief. “What about you?”

Tzuyu tells Chaeyoung all about herself: what she liked about modeling, what life is like for her everyday, what her family back home is like… she talks about it with Chaeyoung so casually, as if they were such mundane things, like what she had eaten the night before, or what her favorite colors were. Chaeyoung, on the other hand, just listens, lets her talk and talk until she has nothing more to say. And the only time she had gotten a relatively violent reaction from Chaeyoung was when she told her she had only moved here 7 years ago. 

_“I thought you grew up here! You sound so fluent, seriously,”_ Chaeyoung said in disbelief, her eyes wide. Tzuyu noticed she does that a lot with her face, it’s funny. It’s even more comedic because Chaeyoung is totally serious. 

Tzuyu just blushes in reply, looking down at her now cold bulgogi. They had talked for too long now. “Stop flattering me. I get enough of that every day.”

Chaeyoung shook her head and continued to eat in silence, smiling. 

Tzuyu peeked at her wristwatch from under her sleeve. It was now 11 in the evening, and she had to be up by 5 in the morning tomorrow. She looks back up to the table and sees Chaeyoung fumbling with her wallet. 

“Hey!” Tzuyu slightly yells at her. “What are you doing?” 

Chaeyoung ignores her, laughs a bit. Her hands are now fumbling with urgency. Tzuyu knows this tug-of-war with paying the bill; sometimes it involves stealth, like when she pretends to go to the bathroom when she’s eating with the other girls, but she actually walks up the cashier with her credit card. But today it involves brute force. Tzuyu raises her hand in the air and takes her cap off because it always seems to get the servers’ attention.

“Sir, may we please have the bill?” She politely asked the waiter. 

“Sure, wait a min–“ 

“And here, credit card please.” Tzuyu quickly handed her card over to the waiter, startling him. In the background, Chaeyoung is whining but Tzuyu ignores her. “Thank you, sir.” 

When he walks away, she looks at Chaeyoung. Her jaw has dropped, now frozen. 

“What?” Tzuyu smugly asks. 

“You just paid for the bill...” Chaeyoung squints at her. “You weren’t supposed to do that!” 

“Nuh-uh.” Tzuyu wiggles her finger at Chaeyoung, shaking her head. “I think you deserved that.” 

“What!?” Chaeyoung’s eyes grow wide again, “Why!?” 

“That’s what you get for insulting me and my career.” Tzuyu laughs as she fixes her hair and puts her cap back on. “Big agency tainting me, huh…” 

Chaeyoung whines. “You know I didn’t mean it!” Tzuyu can feel the table shaking from Chaeyoung hastily stomping her feet on the ground.

“Really?” Tzuyu pouts. “Because that really hurt my feelings over there…” 

“Chou Tzuyu, please...” There are tears in Chaeyoung’s eyes. “I hate you!” 

They immediately leave after the waiter returns Tzuyu’s credit card, which she slips back in her wallet smugly. 

  
  
  
  
  


Chaeyoung drives Tzuyu home that night. 

And despite Tzuyu’s teasing, Chaeyoung eventually cools down. She forgets about it all when she ends up talking about the time she tried getting into makeup while they’re stuck in traffic.

“But makeup is nice,” Tzuyu says. She especially loved seeing it on other models.

“It is!” Chaeyoung says. She tiredly rests her head on the steering wheel. “But not everybody has the talent for it, okay…”

When they finally get to Tzuyu’s apartment, Tzuyu steps down the car and bows to Chaeyoung in gratitude. Chaeyoung reminds her of the photoshoot they’ve talked about: in 2 weeks. On a Saturday. Tzuyu gives Chaeyoung a playful salute, muttering a rushed “bye bye!” afterwards as carefully runs up the stairs of her apartment to escape the harsh cold. 

When she gets home and unwinds from the day, she thinks about the word ‘controversial’, and how it’s been used to describe Chaeyoung countless times– in hearsay, on articles, on tabloids. Tzuyu actually thinks about that word a lot. Hypothetically speaking, what does it take for one to be ‘controversial’? Because it’s something she’d like to, as much as possible, avoid being. One _controversial_ word, action, or even look from her and she’s over, then she will be nothing. 

But she thinks about the meal she’s just had with Chaeyoung and decides that no, Chaeyoung isn’t controversial, because nothing had ever felt strange or unsettling with her. Yes, Chaeyoung might be a bit different from the rest, with all those tiny caricature-looking tattoos peeking from all over her body that she designed by herself, and all her other quirks… but that’s nothing. (That’s nothing, right? If anything, isn’t it unique?) Or at least _Tzuyu_ didn’t find it weird. It makes Tzuyu wonder if the reason she hadn’t felt strange with Chaeyoung might be because she’s strange herself, too. She laughs at the thought, although it kind of scares her, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Luhan, am I weird?” Tzuyu asks Luhan one day as she’s getting her makeup done. She takes out one of her earphones to ask, and holds it expectantly as she waited for Luhan’s answer. 

She had been watching 2017’s Seoul Fashion Week, her first one yet, on her iPad when she remembered to ask. 

Luhan raised an eyebrow at her. He puts down the magazine he had been reading while waiting for her. “What?” He asked, unsure if he had heard her right. After all, it’s 7 in the morning. 

“I said, am I weird?” Tzuyu asked again seriously. There’s a determined look on her face this time; she really wants to know. 

Luhan looks left, completely confused, then back at her. “Uh, no?”

Tzuyu seems to be satisfied with the answer. “Oh-kay,” she puts the earphone back in her ear, and resumes the video she was watching. 

“Why?” 

“Nothing,” Tzuyu says, smiling. Luhan doesn’t take his eyes off of her until after a while, but then he goes back to his magazine afterwards. 

Tzuyu falls asleep somewhere in the middle of the stylist curling her side-bangs. When she wakes up, her iPad is on the table and her earphones are carefully wrapped beside it, and she’s all ready for filming today; she looks in the mirror and the ends of her hair are curled just right, her face with full makeup on. 

She had been casted for a minor role for a late-night drama airing later next week. Luhan is looking at her reflection in the mirror excitedly.

She looks back at his reflection. 

“What.” Tzuyu asks. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Why? What’s with today?”

“Aren’t you excited? You’re going to be surrounded by all these top actors today. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone handsome, then get to know them, talk… oh, you’re growing up so fast!” 

Tzuyu’s face slightly scrunches up in disgust, “No, I don’t think so…” 

It makes Luhan laugh. “What!? Why not?” 

“Luhan, I don’t have enough time.” Tzuyu’s face turns neutral again. “You tell me. Tell me my schedule for the next 2 months, I dare you.” 

Luhan exaggeratedly sighs in defeat, but follows Tzuyu’s command anyway. He unlocks his phone and looks through his business calendar. 

“Okay. You have filming for the next few months, including today. Then in 6 weeks, you have another commercial filming with Mina. Hairdresser appointment in a month. Dermatologist appointment the Friday after that. Then a few appearances, here and there.” Luhan scrolls farther through. “Hey, that’s actually not so bad.” 

Tzuyu looks at her unpainted nails. She had the manicure taken out last week because she decided to just stop painting her nails and keep them short, since it was such an inconvenience to maintain otherwise. 

“You’re right…” She says thoughtfully. Maybe she should listen to Luhan, meet a nice guy, date him… it would be good for her career too, wouldn’t it?

  
  
  
  
  


Chaeyoung, Tzuyu finds out later, is friends with other models too. 

She discovers this on the day of her planned, 30-minute photoshoot with Chaeyoung, where all she did was stand in the middle of Chaeyoung’s tiny photography room and pose. It was casual; she didn’t need to change clothes, and there was no pre-processing. The posing part was easy as well. After all, Tzuyu has learned to effortlessly do so through the years, like knowing her best angles, the major planes on her face, or slightly tucking the left side of her hair behind her ear.

She feels like she does it subconsciously, even. Like when she’s sitting on Chaeyoung’s windowsill blankly looking at the other buildings through the glass of Chaeyoung’s high-rise apartment and Chaeyoung tells her, _hey, don’t move,_ and suddenly she’s pointing her camera at Tzuyu, and Tzuyu obeys before she even has time to question it. 

“Perfect, that’s–” 

But Chaeyoung’s compliment is cut off by a string of loud knocks on her door. 

Knock knock knock knock knock. _Chaeyoung, I know you’re in there._ Knock knock knock. Knock.

“–great.”

Chaeyoung seemed to know who it is though, when she stays unmoving, focused on the camera, and takes a few more shots of Tzuyu. She eventually stands up to open the door. 

_“Hey Chaeyoung!”_

_“Yeah, hey, I know you didn’t invite us, but we’re here anyway.”_

Tzuyu immediately recognized her guests, even from afar: Minatozaki Sana and Yoo Jeongyeon. This is the precise moment that Tzuyu discovers the other side of Chaeyoung’s social circle: when she’s sitting on Chaeyoung’s window sill with her feet hanging off of the floor. It’s kind of embarrassing.

“Oh, Tzuyu. This is Sana, and this is Jeongyeon.” Chaeyoung introduced them to Tzuyu, half-apologetic, half-excited. “Sorry, they usually come without warning. I should’ve told you,” 

And she knows who they are, obviously. She’s not dumb. She’s seen them on the magazines, on TV, and even on posters at the train station, when she still used to commute. She has heard all sorts of comments about them during her time as a trainee, but she’s never really gotten to know them personally. In fact, this is her first time seeing them in private, in the ordinary. 

“No, it’s okay,” Tzuyu said politely. “Hello, I’m Tzuyu. Nice to meet you.” She quickly got on her feet to slightly bow at them. 

“Wow,” Jeongyeon’s eyes are wide when she sees Tzuyu for the first time. “Of course I know you. They were right, you really are so pretty…” 

“Hey, Tzuyu,” Sana laughs, ignoring Jeongyeon. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Chaeyoung leads them to the living room where they all sit down and turn on the TV. Some late night drama that Tzuyu doesn’t care about is on. 

“What time is it?” Sana asks as she sits down. 

“It’s 7PM.” Chaeyoung curtly answered. She stood up to get her laptop from the table to edit Tzuyu’s pictures from earlier, leaving them to sit on her workstation instead.

“Why?” Jeongyeon asked Sana. “Are you hungry? I can order food if you want,”

“No, it’s okay. Just asking.” Sana said.

“Alright.” Jeongyeon said. She grabbed the guitar beside Chaeyoung’s couch and started strumming it clumsily, with no permission whatsoever. “So, Tzuyu, how’d you get to know Chaeyoung?” 

It’s a simple yet loaded question. She can answer that Chaeyoung is merely her photographer, _or_ she can say that they’ve gotten to know each other over dinner one time, _because_ it so happened that Chaeyoung was her photographer. But where do they really stand? 

“Oh, it so happened that Chaeyoung was my photographer for my Godiva shoot a few weeks ago. But we just had a fun, casual shoot today.” Tzuyu answered. _Fun._

“You got Godiva?! Wow...” Jeongyeon looks at her impressively, although not condescendingly. Jeongyeon is nice. “Wait,” Jeongyeon gasps in realization, “Chaeyoung, that means you got Godiva too!” 

“Yeah,” Chaeyoung mutters to her laptop, unbothered. 

“Are you not proud of it, Chaeng?” Sana scolded.

“I guess…” Chaeyoung slurred distractedly, still working. 

Sana shook her head. “Jeongyeon, you’re scaring Tzuyu!” 

“No I’m not!” Jeongyeon protested. She turned to Tzuyu again, “But yeah, congrats on Godiva.” 

“No, really. I saw your Nylon shoot too. It was really nice.” Sana looked at her. Her eyes were much bigger in person. She’s looking at Tzuyu expectantly or fascinatedly; Tzuyu’s not really sure.

Tzuyu laughed a bit. “Thanks.” It’s funny how they’re congratulating her when Jeongyeon and Sana themselves had probably had gigs much bigger than hers. In fact, wasn’t Jeongyeon just on Marie Claire a few weeks ago… 

“I’m hungry,” Sana suddenly whined. 

Jeongyeon faced her. “Do you wanna order food?”

Sana leaned in the crook of Jeongyeon’s neck. “Yes please!” 

“Then order it yourself.” Jeongyeon teased.

Sana whined, again, and Jeongyeon laughed. The proud, borderline-hysterical one where her mouth is as wide as it can get. Tzuyu has seen it numerous times on variety shows, and even sometimes on the red carpet. It’s refreshing. 

“You’re mean,” Sana pouted. “Give me that guitar, you little–”

“No!” Jeongyeon shrieks when Sana attempts to grab the guitar from her arms.

They’re fumbling, and it’s messy, and the couch shakes when they throw determined, but harmless punches at each other. 

But Sana picks up a pillow long forgotten on a floor, and within a second, it lands on Jeongyeon’s nose with a loud, ruthless thud. 

“Hey!” Jeongyeon yelled, “Not the face! I’d lose my job if you broke something here!” 

Tzuyu laughs, again, because it’s true. As a model, your face is your most prized possession. Still, though, that doesn’t stop Jeongyeon and Sana from fighting over the guitar. 

“Actually, I can cook for everyone,” Tzuyu interrupted.

Sana and Jeongyeon completely freeze. They’re now looking at her with glimmer in their eyes. “Really?” They asked in glorious disbelief. 

Tzuyu nodded. Sana and Jeongyeon shower her with endless compliments from the couch where they’re tangled in when she makes her way to the kitchen. It seemed to have calmed them down. Chaeyoung follows her to the kitchen.

“I can stay here while you cook,” Chaeyoung said. She sat comfortably on her dining table and raised her leg on the chair. “I’ll just be editing your pictures.”

“Sure.” 

Surprisingly, Chaeyoung’s pantry is complete. It makes Tzuyu wonder if she has somebody else doing the groceries for her, but then she remembers, right, Chaeyoung has been cooking as of late, as a _hobby._ Tzuyu has forgotten that people actually _have_ hobbies, even on the daily, from the immense hustle and bustle of her life. It makes her kind of jealous.

“What’re you making?” Chaeyoung curiously asked. 

“Just pasta. Have you been cooking lately?”

“No, not really.” Chaeyoung said comfortably. She runs her fingers through her hair in a carefree gesture that makes Tzuyu’s stomach feel weird and fluttery. 

Tzuyu hummed in acknowledgment. While she waited for the water to boil, she took a quick peek at the living room again, and saw that Jeongyeon and Sana have stopped bickering. 

Jeongyeon and Sana seem to be inseparable, Tzuyu notices, in the sense that they seem to just have perfectly fit against each other, with the friction of it all still essential to their dynamic. She watches them from afar, when they hold each other under the blankets when they think no one is looking. Or when Sana forcibly places herself on top of Jeongyeon’s lap and she showers her with seemingly unreciprocated kisses with Jeongyeon squirming and whining under her.

It’s weird. They don’t seem like colleagues. 

Tzuyu could never imagine forcibly sitting on Mina’s lap (she’s apologetic even at the thought of it, no, Mina’s too nice), or showering Elkie, Shuhua, or Handong, even, with kisses. It intrigues Tzuyu, but she tries her best not to look at them for too long. 

Still, she wonders if they live just like her, since they’re models too, after all. Tzuyu doesn’t have enough model friends to know what they’re all really like everyday. She wonders if they have _hobbies_ , too, just like Chaeyoung has. She wonders what they do on breaks. Do they do it like her, too? Getting some rest; going on those detoxing caloric-deficit fruit diets that are impossible during work days, lest she faints on set; and getting those long, skin treatments; or occasionally, going back home to visit family?

She just assumed they were all the same, all canvases made to be painted on. But looking at Jeongyeon and Sana, she thinks she might be wrong. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tzuyu thinks about the canvas again.

She scrubs, scrubs, and scrubs, until her biceps are sore and her palms are rough. 

Tzuyu never learns her lesson. Stains on canvases do not really go away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next time she and Chaeyoung meet, they’ve planned to drive to the Han River to eat ramen. Tzuyu had initially declined, telling Chaeyoung she could eat it by herself and she’d just accompany her, because apparently “ramen doesn’t get digested easily”. She was afraid she’d be bloated for a few days after, but Chaeyoung called her silly for it. A childish part of her– the part who doesn’t like eating ramen, she guesses– had gotten huffy over it, because all her decisions are calculated, so how could it be silly? 

But in the end, she eventually gives in and tells Chaeyoung that, yes, despite the ramen genuinely damaging her digestive system, she will still eat it. It hurts to give in, but the celebratory expression from Chaeyoung had somehow made the risk of an irritable stomach worth it.

When Chaeyoung arrives in front of Tzuyu’s apartment building, Tzuyu finds out that Chaeyoung had even tucked them both in the backseat’s seatbelts, left and right.

Tzuyu gave it a confused look. She walked over to the passenger’s seat, and then gave Chaeyoung the same face. “Why.”

“It’s so cute,” Chaeyoung says, as if fawning over it, her eyes shining with excitement. She must have been proud of the idea. “They look like our children…” 

Tzuyu simply raises a brow and tucks in her seatbelt.

It’s usually like this; Chaeyoung picks her up, and then they drive around Hongdae, or Gangnam at night, in tiny, heavily-tinted cars to avoid suspicion. 

But it’s not that she’s ashamed of Chaeyoung, despite her reputation in the industry, really. She’d just like to avoid the entire distracting ruckus the paparazzi would bring once they find out. Besides, she feels happy with Chaeyoung. She doesn’t want anyone bothering her for that. And if anything, that really is what she feels with Chaeyoung, simple: happy. It’s nothing complicated. It feels simple and real with her. It was only as if Chaeyoung had held out her hand and Tzuyu simply reached out for it, because that was what felt like the right thing to do. There was no question to begin with when it came to Chaeyoung. With Chaeyoung, there were no walls.

She places her hand on Chaeyoung’s resting hand on the car gear and simultaneously looks away, because it’s kind of embarrassing, but the temporary shame is completely worth the feeling of having Chaeyoung’s hand in hers. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tzuyu eventually forgets about Luhan’s suggestion last time, like she does with a lot of things, because she’s always tired. There’s only so much you can do in a day. Half the time she’s with Luhan, or half the time she’s doing her job, rather– he’s driving her to some job and she’s in the backseat sleeping, or at least half asleep. This time, though, he’s finally driving her home.

“Tzuyu, are you seeing Chaeyoung?” Luhan asks her out of nowhere.

“I’m seeing her tomorrow.” Tzuyu curtly replied, tired from the long day. 

“No, I mean, are you _seeing_ each other?” He laughed awkwardly, eyes still on the road.

“What.” 

“Are you dating?” Luhan asked.

“No?” 

What kind of a question is that? Chaeyoung and Tzuyu are _friends_. Tzuyu knows that for sure. She knows that because she genuinely likes Chaeyoung, and they talk. A lot. That’s what friends do; they keep in touch with each other and update one another about their lives. 

Luhan lets out a barely visible sigh of relief.

Yes, maybe she’s entertained the thought of dating Chaeyoung, once or twice, but that’s just because of the intense familiarity she feels with her. She’s with Chaeyoung a lot during her free time and it doesn’t tire her at all, even when she’d normally prefer to be alone in her apartment, inside her own bedroom. Now it’s just different. It was like living with her and breathing the same air. 

“Oh, wow. I really thought you were,” Luhan says with an exhale. “You’re with her a lot these days and you don’t usually spend time with other people for too long, other than Elkie. I think that’s nice though, you’re going out more often lately. Even with your tight schedule,” 

Luhan’s relief confuses her, but she appreciates that he’s happy for her nonetheless. “Why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy. You know, you should have a life outside your job too. Don’t let it kill you.” 

Tzuyu freezes and her heartbeat shoots up. She leaned back further on her seat. “Yeah,” She muttered. 

Luhan must have noticed that something was wrong and Tzuyu had immediately gotten quiet. “Well, it’s good Chaeyoung isn’t a guy, at least,”

Tzuyu looks at the front view mirror of the car to get a glimpse of his face. Sometimes she wonders what goes through his head, and why he says the things he says. “...why?”

“So at least you can have your own fun. If she were a man, the paparazzi would be all over you two, you know? Even if you’re just friends.”

“Oh. Right.”

Everything that Luhan simply passes through her ears afterwards. She’s scared, and she thinks about everything she’s not supposed to as she stares out the window, the car speeding up faster and faster away from Seoul until Gangnam looks like a plethora of flickering photographs of different shades. 

  
  


  
  


Tzuyu learns that she’s going to have her very own photobook, and shooting for it will begin after the holidays. _You’re gonna be real busy then,_ Luhan warns her, but she tells him it’s okay. It’s a pleasant surprise. She’s never had her own photobook. 

But first, she has to take things one step at a time. Today, she’s getting ready for filming for that same late night drama, with the same minor role.

“Are you going anywhere for the holidays?” Luhan asks her as she’s getting ready for filming. He gets a chair and sits beside her. 

“I’ll probably go home, but I’m so busy so I haven’t really thought about it. I haven’t booked anything.”

“Home like, Gangnam home, or Tainan home?” 

“No, _home_ home. Like Taiwan home.” 

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, I miss my mom. I miss my dog. Apparently we got a new one too. You? Are you flying to Beijing?”

“Hopefully. If the agency allows me.”

Luhan and Tzuyu subconsciously sighed in unison. They’re silent for a while until her phone chimes and she takes a peek at the lock screen.

  
  
  
  
  


_From: chaeyoungie❤︎_

_13:44_

_tzuyu-ya, i can’t believe it, he lied to her!!! He broke her heart!!!_

_T_T i’m so sad….._

  
  
  
  
  


She smiles to herself. Chaeyoung can be cute if she tries. It’s funny.

Her phone chimes again.

  
  
  
  
  


_From: chaeyoungie❤︎_

_13:51_

_Why would you tell me to watch this??? My heart… it’s BROKEN…_

_But anyway I miss you tzuyu-ya come baaa~ck!! Come over!! Anytimeee~ i’ll be waiting~_

  
  
  
  
  


She laughs to herself this time, but she quickly replies and keeps her phone in her bag lest anyone asks and pries her who she’s talking to. 

And Luhan can tell she’s in a good mood. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Tzuyu blinks. “Huh?”

“I mean, it’s your second to the last appointment for the whole month, for the holidays.” Luhan smiled at her. “You’ll finally be able to rest.”

Tzuyu exhales in relief. She almost forgot about that. “Oh, yeah.” 

“Take care of yourself, okay? Eat a lot of fruits, drink a lot of water, do whatever you want, while you still can… life’s too short to always be on the go.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Tzuyu walks in Chaeyoung’s apartment the next day, she is met by a big, whining crybaby at the door.

“Tzuyu! You didn’t come over! I was sobbing my eyes out and I was alone! I finished the whole series, everything, all I had with me were a few tissues...” 

Tzuyu stood still and blankly stared at Chaeyoung, simply because there was nothing else to say. She ironically pursed her lips into a straight line. For a moment, she contemplated putting a hand on Chaeyoung’s shoulder sympathetically, or warmly enveloping her in a hug for the sake of Chaeyoung’s comfort. But then she remembered she enjoyed doing the teasing; pushing Chaeyoung to the edge; showing no reaction when Chaeyoung expected it the most.

Chaeyoung looked at her expectantly. “Well!?” 

“Well,” Tzuyu gave up anyway. She laughed, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She squeezed Chaeyoung’s arm as she walked past her, and to the living room.

Chaeyoung pouted and followed her pleadingly. “Is that all you’re going to say?” 

Tzuyu set her handbag on Chaeyoung’s living room table. “I’m just kidding! That’s why I came here early, you know. To make it up to you.” 

Chaeyoung smiled at her. “Thank you,” 

It’s true, she’s incredibly early. They’re supposed to go to one of Chaeyoung’s favorite bars later tonight, along with Jeongyeon and Sana, but it’s just three in the afternoon. Jeongyeon and Sana aren’t going to be here for another four hours. 

So Chaeyoung gets comfortable. She sits on her workstation, raising up one foot on the chair like she always does in concentration. She’s slumped over the table, and the tank top she’s wearing is so loose that Tzuyu can see the chiseled crevices on her sides. 

“Working on pictures again?” Tzuyu asked. She carefully sat down on Chaeyoung’s couch to avoid wrinkling her dress. 

“No. Music.” Chaeyoung picked up the headphones on her table and put it on. She pushed the left ear-pad behind her ear so she could still hear Tzuyu talk. 

Right. Chaeyoung composed and wrote lyrics, too. She briefly mentioned it to Tzuyu in the past, but wouldn’t delve into it when Tzuyu asked to listen to a sample, because she was “too shy”. 

“But it’s a weekend,” Tzuyu said. 

“I know. But I have fun doing it.” Chaeyoung shrugged and then smiled. “Besides, it gets me money sometimes, I guess,”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I like it. I like music, and I like seeing the fruits of my labor, this,” Chaeyoung wiped a bit of dust off the screen of her laptop. “Sometimes it takes me hours, and it gets tiring, yeah, but it’s alright. I’m proud of it.”

“That’s nice.” Tzuyu said.

“Thank youuuu,” Chaeyoung idly murmured.

Chaeyoung seems to be passionate about everything she does. Or rather, she only does things she’s passionate about. There’s a glimmer in her eyes when she talks about these things– drawing, music, photography, or art in general. Tzuyu wonders if there’s the same glimmer in her own eyes when she talks about modeling. 

She walked over to Chaeyoung and watched as she worked from behind Chaeyoung’s seat. It was some sort of audio-editing application she only saw in recording studios, like when she would sing one-liner jingles for her commercial films. Waves of sounds and bars and timeframes on a dark, complicated interface she didn’t understand. She also takes a peek at Chaeyoung’s open sketchpad beside her laptop and sees stanzas, presumably lyrics than poetry, talking about infatuation and unrequited love. Art stuff.

She poked Chaeyoung in the shoulder.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

“...yes?” Chaeyoung patiently asked. Very, very patiently. She took out her headphones. 

Tzuyu kind of feels bad, but she’s really, really bored. “When are you sending me my pictures from the shoot?”

“Oh,” Chaeyoung’s eyes grew wide in remembrance. She ignores Tzuyu’s apologetic joking because she had genuinely almost forgotten about the photos. “I’m not done with them yet… heh, sorry Tzuyu,” She looked up at Tzuyu from her seat, slightly pouting. “I’m not sure when I’ll finish.”

“Why aren’t you sure?” Tzuyu asked curiously.

“I usually just work on projects that I feel like working on. Sometimes I do them simultaneously, sometimes I put them off,”

“Huh?” Tzuyu wrinkled her forehead in curious confusion. “So you just wake up and then decide, _okay, I’m not going to do anything today,_ or, _I feel like starting another project, even if I have other unfinished ones?”_

Chaeyoung thought about it for a while. “Well, yeah. I don’t really think about it. It’s more fun that way, you know? Defamiliarizing yourself with routine…” 

Tzuyu simply nodded, even if she did not agree, let alone understand. She noticed that people like Chaeyoung talk about living in the present, taking things as they come like blessings or surprises. But Tzuyu never really understood it, that whole ‘ _life is a box of chocolates’_ thing, because she had _all_ her days planned ahead of her– weeks, months, and years, even. Hell, even her rest-days were planned. It was as if her life was merely a business calendar, and she doesn’t even quite feel like the author of it. 

Tzuyu lets Chaeyoung do her thing anyway. She lies down on the couch, scrolling through her phone, jumping from one app to another, ignoring all her unread messages and emails. 

“Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu called out after a while. 

Chaeyoung can’t hear her. Noise-cancelling headphones. 

“Chaeyoung!”

Chaeyoung took out her headphones for the nth time that day, from Tzuyu’s demands of her attention. “...yes?” She asked. Again. 

“Can I borrow pajamas...?” Tzuyu asked apologetically. She just couldn’t afford to go out in public in a wrinkled dress. “I’m sleepy…”

“Yes, in my bedroom. You can sleep there if you like.” Chaeyoung replied, not taking her eyes off of the laptop.

“Okay.” 

Tzuyu happily skips to Chaeyoung’s bedroom, giggling to herself. It might have been an attempt to get rid of her annoying Chaeyoung while she’s working, but it’s alright. Sometimes her boredom does give her advantages… 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They drive to a bar later that night. There’s a singer on stage. 

_Park Jihyo._ Of course Tzuyu knows her, but not personally though. Tzuyu’s just a fan. She likes Jihyo’s voice; it’s powerful, moving. She sings about heartbreak, infatuation, love… it makes Tzuyu reminisce about a love she’s never even had. 

She even has Jihyo’s entire discography saved on her phone. That’s what she told Jeongyeon and Sana in the car on the way to the bar from Chaeyoung’s apartment, when they had told her that Jihyo would be on tonight. They somehow found it hilarious when Tzuyu told them earlier though.

_“No, seriously,” Sana beamed from the backseat. “You have her entire discography on your phone?”_

_“Yes.” Tzuyu smiled confusedly. “Why?”_

_Jeongyeon laughed. Tzuyu watched her as she did; she always laughed that laugh. She’s laughing so animatedly that her dangling earrings are swinging. “No, seriously, and you’ve got no idea why it’s so funny?”_

_Tzuyu looks at Chaeyoung from the passenger seat, hoping for a clue. But Chaeyoung keeps her eyes on the road, driving. If this was some kind of prank…_

“Three glasses of white wine, please,” Jeongyeon tells the waiter. He nods and leaves. “Okay, anyway, the reason why it’s so funny is because Chaeyoung wrote almost everything from Jihyo’s latest album.”

Tzuyu was surprised. “You?” She looked at Chaeyoung. 

Chaeyoung covered her face in embarrassment, but behind her palms, she was smiling. She’s not embarrassed of her music per se; the attention’s just overwhelming. She’s probably not used to it. She’s always behind the camera, after all. 

Sana nodded her head. “Yes, her.” She slung her arm over Chaeyoung’s shoulders, stroking her arm. “You worked hard,” 

“Wait, her latest album?” Tzuyu asked. She could hardly believe Chaeyoung wrote all of this, when Jihyo’s last album was just released a week ago. 

“Yes, her latest album,” Chaeyoung weakly answered. 

“Your three glasses of wine,” The waiter came and placed their drinks on the table. He left promptly. 

“Wait. Woah…” Tzuyu says in disbelief. “Congratulations. I’m… I’m proud.” She almost couldn’t believe it, Chaeyoung doing all these out of a _hobby._ Out of passion. She feels a bit envious, but at the same time amazed. “Did you write this one, too?” Tzuyu asked, pertaining to the song now. 

“Yes, I did.” Chaeyoung said. 

Jihyo is singing about unrequited love. Tzuyu looks at Jihyo and now she’s belting out high-pitched notes. They wait until she finishes. Tzuyu watches in awe the whole time. 

Jeongyeon laughed a bit. “Seems like you were going through a tough time, huh,” 

“Stop, you guys,” Chaeyoung pouted.

“Okay, okay. I hope Jihyo performs the rap today.” Sana chuckled. “It’s about pranking an ex.” 

“Did you write that too?” Tzuyu asked. 

Chaeyoung nodded. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s impressive. Tzuyu doesn’t ask any more questions that night. They just drink, listen to music, and Chaeyoung eventually drives all of them home. It’s the first time in years that Tzuyu has been out this late, and maybe even her first time in Korea she’s stayed outside for non-business related matters. (It means, she’s getting a life outside modeling.) 

And for that, she’s tremendously grateful for Chaeyoung. It was as if Chaeyoung had opened a whole new world for her that she didn’t even know existed. 

Tzuyu realizes this when she looks at the clock in the car on the way home, where everybody is silent lest Jeongyeon and Sana wake up, asleep from the alcohol-induced slumber. 

She looks at Chaeyoung and her eyes are obviously heavy. She’s tired. Tzuyu wants to talk to her, but that might be tactless of her to do so, so she doesn’t. Chaeyoung needs her rest. She holds Chaeyoung’s hand on the gear throughout the whole ride instead, and it somehow makes Tzuyu’s stomach twist, out of thrill, out of happiness. It feels nice holding Chaeyoung’s hand, Tzuyu decides. She doesn’t feel like letting go anytime soon. 

“What’s up?” Chaeyoung suddenly asked.

Tzuyu looked away, out the window. “Nothing.” 

“You look like there’s something bothering you.”

It’s a prodding thought, almost intrusive that Tzuyu is ashamed of it. But deep inside, there’s a selfish part of Tzuyu that wants Chaeyoung to write about her. It’s just a small, embarrassing thought though, and she won’t tell anyone about it. 

Tzuyu looked down on her feet. “Your ex,” she said softly, “what was she like?” 

Chaeyoung chuckled. She kept her eyes on the road. “She was pretty.” 

“Was she your type?” Tzuyu asked curiously.

“I guess,” Chaeyoung shrugged. “She was tall, pretty, quiet but witty, a bit annoying…”

Tzuyu doesn’t ask any more questions that night. She doesn’t ask any more for days either. There's something inside her overflowing, yet she doesn’t know what it is. She conceals it, masks it to the world, to herself, and to Chaeyoung, with the growing hustle-bustle of her life. It’s easier to ignore things when you’re always running.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The canvas is breaking from all her scrubbing.

There are tiny, gaping holes everywhere. 

Soon enough, the canvas will break and Tzuyu wouldn’t know what to do with that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s almost February and the weather has gotten warmer, albeit significantly. 

Winter is ending in two months, but ironically, she has a swimsuit shoot with Mina. It makes her laugh a bit, but it’s actually pretty ruthless when she thinks about it. Business does not wait for seasons to change.

But it’ll be worth it. They’ll be filmed for a Lotte Water Park commercial, set to be released in June, roughly five months from now. _It’s going to be big_ , Luhan told her this morning while he was driving her to the set. Tzuyu’s thankful for it of course, but it’s not really much news to her anymore. 

When she arrives on set, she sits down on a chair as the hairdressers work on her. It’s the same routine again; she will fall asleep, and then wake up to a surprise. Today she guesses they’ll give her a bandana and braids. Or a straw hat. She knows it’s pretty juvenile, but guessing when it comes to work kind of gives color to routine.

  
  
  
  
  


Truth to be told, when Tzuyu wakes up, there’s a straw hat in front of her. Her clothes for the shoot are neatly folded beside it: a red floral top and jean shorts. 

She looks around and Mina is beside her, still having her makeup done, also half-asleep. To her right, there’s Luhan, sitting down, busy on his phone. 

“I thought this was going to be a swimsuit shoot,” Tzuyu told Luhan.

“My bad.” Luhan scratched his head, “A summer shoot.”

Tzuyu crossed her legs. 

Moments later, when Tzuyu is fully changed into her clothes for the shoot, and Mina is now fully awake, they stand in the middle of the set, in front of a huge greenscreen wall, waiting. There’s a medium-sized inflatable pool being dragged to the middle of the set in front of them by scrambling staff members. 

“It’s cold, isn’t it,” Tzuyu mutters. 

“I know.” Mina rubbed her arms. “But you look very pretty today,” 

Tzuyu ducked her head in slight embarrassment. “Thank you.”

But before she can say anything else, the director walks in, and they promptly start to work. The preprocessing is easy. _Just look like you’re having fun. It’s a water theme park commercial. Be cute, be sexy._ The director tells them, _it's summertime!_

“No, it’s the middle of Winter,” Tzuyu murmurs to Mina behind her toothed smile, a skill she has learned in the past few years. 

It makes Mina laugh and the director laughs in pleasant surprise.

“Good!”

As endorsers of the summer park, Tzuyu and Mina run around the greenscreen set and play in the inflatable pool. They lightly argue over which ride they want to try until they compromise with the pool. They splash water on each other, laughing. Under the creative director’s command, Tzuyu winks at the camera and flips her hair, her brown highlights shining under the ring light on set. The commercial ends shortly after that.

  
  
  
  
  


“You did so well today,” Mina later tells Tzuyu in the dressing room, after the shoot. 

“Thank you. You did too, and you looked so pretty.” 

Mina blushed in reply, fiddling with her fingers. Tzuyu thinks it’s cute. She thinks she’s gotten more confident in leveraging situations like this. In a way, it’s a bit fun making Mina so flustered; being bold in general is fun.

“You know,” Tzuyu continued, “I’ve been such a fan of yours too, ever since before. I was just too shy to tell you last time.” 

Mina’s eyes grew wide. “No way,” Mina slightly gasped to herself. “Thank you,” 

“It’s no problem,” Tzuyu smiled smugly. She walked to Mina and stood beside her intrusively. “You should invite me to one of your shows soon, it’s going to be fun.”

Tzuyu stared at Mina up close, studying each angle, feature, and speck. She’s so close she can see the pores on her nose, the minuscule beauty mark atop the arch of Mina’s lips. Mina is elegant, actually. It makes Tzuyu wonder if Mina knows that herself. She looks at Mina in the eyes and sees that Mina is looking at her the same, and suddenly, Tzuyu feels a light touch on her cheek. Mina has held up her hand, and her cradling Tzuyu’s cheek is as gentle as ever. Tzuyu’s heart is beating really fast. But being held feels nice, Tzuyu thinks.

Everything is blurring, but it’s exciting.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since…” Mina whispers against her lips, trailing off. In a sudden sense of intuition, Tzuyu rests her hand on Mina’s waist. She doesn’t say anything, but now Mina’s lips are on Tzuyu’s.

They’re kissing. But it feels nice, still. 

Tzuyu closes her eyes. She holds Mina’s head with her other hand, and suddenly they’re moving, and Mina is whimpering against her lips, and eventually they’re licking into each other’s mouths. Tzuyu feels like she’s getting lost in Mina, and there’s a kind of thrill in that wander. 

But that thrill is suddenly cut off when they hear a few knocks on the door. Tzuyu closes her mouth and slightly pushes Mina away in surprise. Mina’s eyes are wide, her lipstick a bit smudged from earlier. Tzuyu dreadfully knows she looks the same. 

“Shit,” Tzuyu whispered under her breath. “I’m so sorry,” She scrambled to get the wipes in her bag and cleaned her lips. She gave Mina some too, in a panic. 

Mina timidly cleaned her lips. She looked at Tzuyu with unsure, yet hopeful eyes. “But will you still be coming?” 

Tzuyu looked at her. “Where?” 

Mina pursed her lips. “To my show, I mean.” 

Tzuyu felt her heartbeat shoot up, her throat clamping in guilt. “Yes. Yes. I’ll tell Luhan about it. I’ll make time.” She forced a smile. It hurt her to see Mina so hopeful, so happy. 

“Yes, Luhan, I’m almost done,” Tzuyu yells from inside the dressing room. She smiles at Mina again before rushing to change her clothes, running to the bathroom. 

She can hear the whole exchange outside, but she’s thankful now that no one can neither hear nor see her. She leans her back against the wall and buries her face in her hands. Somehow, the world feels like it’s ending, and suddenly she’s crying, sobbing into her hands, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes that she cannot help.

But things will be okay, she thinks. She will cry for a good 10 minutes and come out of the bathroom like everything is fine, like she’s always used to composing herself. 

Nevertheless, her hands, wet with tears, signify guilt. There's something inside of her she cannot embrace. 

_What did I just do?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The canvas has definitely been stained, far gone from concealment. It’s broken. 

There’s no use for the canvas now.

  
  
  
  
  


Later in the car, Luhan asks her a question in the car she can’t quite understand. Tzuyu merely looks out the window, slumped on her seat. The only thing she musters out during that 30 minute drive is a soft _thank you_ when Luhan finally brings her home. 

Everything after that seems like a blur, disorienting. She doesn’t feel quite like herself. Things don’t seem the same way she has known them to be anymore, and there’s a misalignment, a disconnection between herself and everything she has ever known. 

She lies down on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Disgustingly minimalist. She raises her hands to her face to look at her palms. It felt disgusting and shameful to be herself, but what is she now anyway, besides her own physical self? It’s hard to tell, so she thinks about love, autonomy, identity. And then Chaeyoung. 

Because Chaeyoung would tell her what to do, right?

Either way, Tzuyu feels sorry for herself, and she’s equal parts disgusted and confused, because what is there to be sorry for? Tzuyu doesn’t know either; all she knows right now is that she wants to be with Chaeyoung. And if she wants to continue being with Chaeyoung, then she must be honest with her. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do; friends do not lie to each other. 

Tzuyu calls Chaeyoung on the phone, repulsed by her own shamelessness, after she sees a string of unreplied texts from Chaeyoung that she has ignored the past few days, because the image of a broken canvas would not allow herself to reply.

  
  


_“Hello?”_

  
  


It’s the first time she’s heard Chaeyoung’s voice in days. It makes Tzuyu feel weak in the knees, and it’s really the most pathetic she’s felt; she can hear the tremble in her already weak voice when she asks Chaeyoung if she’s home and if she can come over. And of course Chaeyoung says yes without any questions, because when has Chaeyoung ever said no to Tzuyu?  
  


When Chaeyoung opens the door, the first thing she does is greet Tzuyu. 

Tzuyu only keeps her head down because she could not afford to do so otherwise. She didn’t dare peek at Chaeyoung’s face; it was most likely something resembling pity.

A lot of people looked at her like that, with sympathy and contriteness. But she hated it; the condescending stares, although well-intentioned, she thought, assumed that she was not capable of independent action and thought. Why? What was it about her that seemed weak? It’s infuriating to think about, because Tzuyu knew she was not weak. She was anything but. She had carefully crafted a person for herself and erected all these walls around her, and she has made herself the person she is today. So how can she possibly be _weak?_

She steps inside without saying a word to Chaeyoung. It’s rude, she knows, but she can’t even entertain the thought of possibly hurting Chaeyoung’s feelings right now, because the only thing in her head is a tangle of regret and anguish. At herself. At the world. At her agency, and at the management. And she supposes that if they had never gotten her to sign up for that damned random endorsement, then none of this would have ever happened.

Chaeyoung sits her down in the kitchen. Tzuyu is devastatingly staring at the half-filled glass of orange juice. Chaeyoung was probably supposed to drink it, until she came and forcefully inserted herself here like an intruder.

“I’m sorry, Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu softly muttered. She stared at the floor. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“What? No,” Chaeyoung pensively scrunched her eyebrows. The tea was now ready, and she poured some from the boiler into a tiny cup and placed it in front of Tzuyu. “You’re always welcome here. To be honest, I don’t know what’s up, but you’re always free to tell me what’s bothering you. But otherwise is fine too.” Chaeyoung took the chair adjacent to Tzuyu and sat diagonally across her on her tiny dining table. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Chaeyoung, I don’t know what’s…” Tzuyu breaks off. Is the word she’s looking for _'wrong'? ‘different?_ But to say she was wrong meant Chaeyoung was wrong, too, and there was nothing wrong with Chaeyoung. “Something’s _different_ with me now, and I feel so… dirty. I did something wrong.” But to say that she _did_ something wrong, her first step to the admission of truth, felt like a breath of fresh air – the kind with a conscious, evil pride in it. _But what did I even do right these past few months,_ Tzuyu thought to herself. 

“Why… what did you do?”

“I–” Tzuyu choked up. For a moment she thinks she might cry. She hasn’t cried in months, and it would be embarrassingly juvenile to do so. 

But knowing Chaeyoung– her patience, her kindness, her empathy, and her heart of gold, which Tzuyu definitely did not deserve at all– she probably would understand. 

So Tzuyu tells her all about it. She tells Chaeyoung about her shoot today and how it came about, everything that happened afterwards with Mina in the dressing room, and how she immediately left, and how she called Chaeyoung… which brings Luhan to drive her to Chaeyoung’s apartment, to the seat she’s sitting on right now. 

She finally gains the courage to look at Chaeyoung in the eyes, to find out that Chaeyoung _is_ looking at her with something resembling pity, or _worry,_ more so, but somehow it doesn’t really hurt her anymore. 

“...I don’t know, nobody can know about this, and I–” Tzuyu stuttered uncertainly, “I think I let people down,”

“And who did you let down?” Chaeyoung asked.

“I don’t know. Everybody. My friends, my fans, you… and if this gets to the media, I’m totally done for,” Tzuyu shakes her head. She let out a heavy sigh. “Chaeyoung, I’m sorry.”

“Tzuyu,” Chaeyoung said gently. Gentle as always. She tucked a stray strand of Tzuyu’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t be sorry to me, or to anyone else. Really. There’s nothing wrong with that, and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Instead of crying, Tzuyu buries her face in her hands in defeat. She’s still genuinely sorry, even to Chaeyoung, but she’s not sure for what. 

“Thank you.” Tzuyu says softly. 

Ironically, the worst part may be that she shouldn’t be sorry about it because it’s just who she is. The thought of it terrifies her.

They don’t talk much after that, and Chaeyoung seems to forget about it. Either that, or maybe Chaeyoung just isn’t comfortable comforting people, just like she herself isn’t. (After all, they are alike in a lot of surprising ways.) They only make themselves comfortable on Chaeyoung’s couch and watch a classic drama before Chaeyoung starts to cry, and Tzuyu does, too, but only because Chaeyoung is so it really isn’t that embarrassing to be doing so. By the time the last episode ends, it’s 3 in the morning and Chaeyoung tiredly drives her home. But this time, Tzuyu doesn’t hold her hand.

  
  
  
  
  


Tzuyu slept in the next day and through her supposed morning schedule, a quick interview with a small magazine, much to Luhan’s dismay. At this point, she was somehow too drained to feel sorry for herself, let alone Luhan, or the agency. And that was it. There was no other way for wonder or contemplation to arise afterwards because she was just tired.

She woke up with the same hint of dread pooling in her stomach– the solid, stubborn one that doesn’t dissipate at all even through slumber. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Now it’s just bleak, white, and insufferable. 

Tzuyu thought, broodingly, that had she never attempted to venture out and step outside the persona that she had already erected for herself, then none of this would have ever happened. And it seemed that there was no entrance to the person she was before, the same way there was an exit. In a way, it felt unfair, but experience should have taught her that she shouldn’t have tried in the first place.

She closed her eyes. She wanted to buy the nearest plane ticket home, but opted not to, because she knew she shouldn’t allow Tainan into her veins: calm, quiet, and slow Tainan. She fears that once she integrates herself again into home, she’ll never return to the person she is today– and that’s even worse than being controversial. She will blend in, live an ordinary life, and lose everything she had ever had: the exact opposite of being a _model._

Yes, she was a model, and she shouldn’t forget that. That is the only other thing that goes through her head for weeks. _I, Chou Tzuyu, am a model._

Then the other thing that spins in her head is the same pool of dread in her stomach. It weighs down on her wherever she goes, that _thing_. She’s not really sure what it is, just that it’s wrong. The uncertainty hurts and it’s scary. It was never supposed to be this way, and now, no one should be allowed to know.

_And why can’t they know?_

They just can’t. _I am saving them the burden of discovering who I really am,_ Tzuyu thought. It hurts, that tremendously heavy thing she’s carrying around. But it’s for good reason; she is not weak. But if not weakness, she wonders, could it be fear? It’s hard to imagine herself fearful, having come to Korea alone at the ripe age of 13, without knowing the language, or anybody at all. Of course it wasn’t fear. If Tzuyu were a coward, then she would have never become one of Korea’s top supermodels, right? 

She sighed in defeat.

No. Of course it’s fear. No matter how many times she will justify, rationalize, and explain it– the single fact still stands: she is scared. 

Albeit painful, it’s a bit comforting to admit defeat, because it feels like half the battle is over. But to admit fear is scary in itself, and it is at this precise point that Tzuyu realizes she is supposed to _feel,_ as she has been all her life. 

And there’s no point in denying it anymore, she realizes hopefully, yet helplessly. Like matter, whatever that _thing_ inside her that she merely used to ignore, actually exists. She can’t see it, but she can definitely feel it; it’s complex, real, and it cannot be destroyed. 

It’s an especially dangerous discovery when Tzuyu realizes that all her life, she has told herself that, _no, it is not okay to express whatever this is_ , or, more importantly, _allowing myself to feel will only hurt me._

But because she’s tried to contain herself all her life, what’s supposed to happen now, if things like that don’t easily disappear? She asks herself again and again at the backseat of the cab, on the way to Chaeyoung’s apartment one day.   
  
  


“Hey,” Chaeyoung greeted her at the door. 

“Hey.” Tzuyu walked in Chaeyoung’s apartment. It’s the first time she’s seen Chaeyoung in person after she had come here to spill her guts out, but somehow it doesn’t feel awkward, and Chaeyoung doesn’t really mention it. And it’s nice. Everything feels _normal._ Because that’s what Tzuyu is supposed to be, and what she’s supposed to do: be a normal model, living the _normal_ model lifestyle.

Chaeyoung walked to her workstation and closed her laptop. “Have you eaten?” 

“No,” Tzuyu answered. 

“I can cook.” 

“It’s okay, I don’t really feel like eating.” Tzuyu said. Her already small appetite had even decreased over the weeks, for some reason. “And the last time I was here, your refrigerator was nearly empty.” 

“You just declined my top-tier culinary services!” Chaeyoung faked an exaggerated gasp. “I’m going to cook anyway!” 

Tzuyu laughed. “Okay.” 

  
  
  
  


“You’re right, my refrigerator _is_ empty…” Chaeyoung dejectedly said as she opened the door to her fridge moments later. She took out the only things she could use and laid it on the table. Gochujang, spam, kimchi, leftover rice from last night… “But I guess you’re lucky because kimchi fried rice is the only thing I can cook from scratch.” 

Tzuyu looked at the leftover rice with disgust. “Is this what you cook for yourself when no one comes over?” Tzuyu asked lightly, joking. 

Chaeyoung playfully stuck her tongue out at her. She whined, “You’re mean,” 

“I’m just joking!” Tzuyu laughed. She watched as Chaeyoung cut up the spam into cubes and added oil to the pan. She wondered about domesticity, and the fluidity of home. Just a few years ago, she’d never call _this_ home, Seoul. But through her career, somewhere along the way, it was as if a light had been switched off, or on, she’s not sure. Then suddenly Gangnam was her home. She wondered if Chaeyoung felt the same, if this apartment they were standing in was home to her now, too. 

Chaeyoung eventually added the kimchi to the pan as Tzuyu stayed still, watching. 

“Do you usually cook this?” Tzuyu asked.

“No, not really.” 

“But you’re good at it.” 

Chaeyoung shrugged. “Well I cooked this a lot for my ex, I guess. It was her favorite dish.”

Tzuyu swallowed hard. She tried her best not to make a sound. Suddenly her throat felt like it was clamping up. And, oh god, now it’s kinda hard to breathe. “Oh. But...” She doesn’t really know what to say. “Are you guys… still okay… by the way?” 

Chaeyoung tilted her head in a confused gesture. “Huh?”

Tzuyu’s stomach felt weird. She tried to control her uneven breathing. She took a long inhale. “I mean, was it... a bad break-up?” 

“Oh, no. Not really.” Chaeyoung nonchalantly said. She added some grated cheese to the pan. “I’m over it, honestly.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Can we watch something else?” Chaeyoung asked. 

Tzuyu narrowed her eyes. “No.”

They were in the living room now. Tzuyu had collapsed onto the couch after dinner, genuinely feeling like her stomach was going to explode. She hasn’t eaten rice, _white_ rice in months. She internally justifies it by telling herself at least there was _kimchi_ in it, necessarily so, because it somehow feels like a crime to eat rice when you’re a model. 

But she should enjoy her time, stop feeling so hard on herself. That’s what Luhans tells her all the time. So now, she tries to do just that. _Relax, Tzuyu. Live a bit,_ Luhan’s voice rings in her head. 

“Please. I’m sick of Zombies. And Gong Yoo's face.” Tzuyu said.

“But Chaeyoung, there are people _dying._ They’re going to die! Can you imagine, they’re– _hey!”_

Tzuyu shrieked, dodging Chaeyoung’s two hands that shout out her throat, set out on suffocating her. She thanks the archery classes she had taken for a while when she was younger for her brisk reflexes.

“You almost killed me!” Tzuyu cried dramatically. “Well, okay, fine. We can change it if you can get the remote.” Tzuyu teased. She raised the remote in her hand up into the air.

“Then give me that!” Chaeyoung reaches out for the remote from Tzuyu’s teasing, high hand, seemingly revengeful, but fails. But she doesn’t give up. If Tzuyu can tease her all she wants, then Chaeyoung should at least be able to choose the channel. 

Chaeyoung jumps on Tzuyu determinedly. “Tzuyu! you’re gonna pay–“

“Wait–“

Chaeyoung barely had time to feel proud for successfully tackling Tzuyu before Tzuyu grabs onto her, and they both crash on the floor. Tzuyu falls on her back with a loud thud. 

“Ow,” Tzuyu whined, rubbing her side.

It hurts. Chaeyoung is heavy. 

Tzuyu can barely breathe.

“Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu whined. She pushes on Chaeyoung’s shoulders, but to no avail. “You’re heavy, you’re going to kill me...”

“Good.” Chaeyoung doesn’t get off her, murmuring against the crook of her neck. “Because you’re mean.”

“Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu whined again, more pleadingly this time, “please?” 

Tzuyu’s practically begging at this point, and it must have gotten to Chaeyoung because finally, Tzuyu can feel movement. 

In an attempt to stand up, Chaeyoung shifts, tries to get on her knees for leverage. But suddenly, a high-pitched, wanton whimper escapes Chaeyoung’s lips. 

_“Tzuyu,”_

  
  


The air is still. 

The sound of it echoes in her mind. It sends shivers up Tzuyu’s spine. She can feel the thin hairs on her arm stand up, up to her elbows.

Tzuyu hears Chaeyoung take a sharp inhale. She looks at Chaeyoung and Chaeyoung’s eyes are wide, her face pale with mortification. 

“Oh my god.” Chaeyoung whispers. “I’m so sorry,”

But no, it’s okay. 

It will always be okay with Chaeyoung, because now, Tzuyu knows that this is what she wants. 

She suddenly lifts her head up from the floor and touches Chaeyoung’s lips with hers; shy, and gentle, because that is everything that Tzuyu is supposed to be. 

Tzuyu lies her head back on the floor. Chaeyoung is holding herself up by the elbows. It’s the first time Chaeyoung is looking at her like this. And if Tzuyu can feel, _hear_ the beating of her own heart, then she’s pretty sure Chaeyoung can hear it, too. 

But Tzuyu doesn’t say anything; she only looks at Chaeyoung. She’s never done this before and she’s not quite sure what she’s doing or feeling. She just know she likes it, even if she’s not supposed to. She puts her hand on Chaeyoung’s back. It’s a feeling she’s never experienced before. Her stomach feels strange and warm, twisting in a painful yet beautiful way. 

It’s funny how this is the most connected she’s ever felt to Chaeyoung and she hasn’t even said a word ever since she had fallen on her back with Chaeyoung on top of her.

“No,” Tzuyu finally whispers against Chaeyoung’s lips. “It’s okay.”

Chaeyoung sighed in relief, whimpering against her mouth. Her hands come around Tzuyu’s shoulders. Tzuyu can feel them shaking.

Wait. 

Chaeyoung is actually shaking on top of her.

It’s just now that Tzuyu finally understands what’s happening.

And now Chaeyoung is shaking. With Want. Chaeyoung wants her.

It suddenly hits Tzuyu that Chaeyoung was talking about her the entire time. _Tall, pretty, quiet but witty._ The songs she was producing for Jihyo. The lyrics she was writing on her sketchpad. 

It’s the first time she’s doing this, having somebody on top of her and kissing her; the first time she’s felt this vulnerable, but somehow it doesn’t really hurt, because Chaeyoung is holding her all throughout, guiding her, quite literally, even. 

Chaeyoung releases any kind of initial inhibition she had, and grabs Tzuyu’s head with her hands, more wantonly this time, eventually tangling her fingers in Tzuyu’s hair. Tzuyu can feel the vibration of Chaeyoung’s whines on her lips. 

It hits Tzuyu, too, that maybe this is what she wants. That she fervently admired models all her life, not only because she wanted to be like them. 

That what she felt whenever she saw Jeongyeon and Sana together was not intrigue, fascination, or want– but longing. She wanted to be like them, have what they had, what each of them had. 

And Tzuyu realizes that to have what they have, to be like them, she must be brave. She knows they’re brave, because they just don’t care. They’re _free._

So if she can have this moment, even for a while, she will have it. She kisses Chaeyoung again. 

She doesn’t quite understand what it is to be brave, but she will still do it.

Chaeyoung is licking into her mouth and Tzuyu is griping under her, and she knows, there is no such thing as being brave too early. She wants to be brave now.

“Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu breathed out. “Can I take your shirt off?” 

“Yes,” Chaeyoung panted against her mouth. “You can do anything you want.”

In a swift move, Tzuyu does. Chaeyoung asks her the same thing, but she doesn’t need to, because Tzuyu does it for her anyway. This is the least she can do for Chaeyoung. She wants to give to Chaeyoung, and she does exactly that, when they get lost in each other and they hold each other like they’re not going to see each other again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Wow.” 

Chaeyoung awkwardly pursed her lips into a straight line. “Yup… wow.”

“To be honest,” Tzuyu paused for a while. “I’m not sure what just happened,”

“What we did...” Chaeyoung trailed off. They were both looking at the ceiling, still lying down on bed comfortably. Tzuyu on the left, Chaeyoung on the right. Is this what people do when they’re in love? “That’s what people do when they’re in love.” 

Tzuyu giggled because she was just thinking that. “So we’re in love, huh,” She goaded.

“Maybe.” 

“Nevermind, I actually hate you.” Tzuyu deadpanned.

Chaeyoung chuckled and looked at her. “Are you cold? I can get you another blanket.”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Alright.”

Chaeyoung stood up and looked for another blanket. Tzuyu fiddled with her fingers and watched her. How did they just do that? She doesn’t regret it though, it’s just a curious thought. Maybe it happened because she wanted it, or maybe it happened because Tzuyu likes Chaeyoung. No, not maybe– of _course_ Tzuyu liked Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung always made her want to try new things. She likes it, it’s really exciting. This morning, she left her apartment, took a cab for the first time in years, and now, she’s right here. 

Breaking rules is scary, but it’s fun. Tzuyu feels like a teenager all over again. 

“Are you okay?” Chaeyoung asked. She unfolded the blanket and threw it in the air so it would parachute on Tzuyu like a carpet. They both watched it land on Tzuyu slowly. 

“Yeah, I am. Sorry.” Tzuyu let out a heavy exhale. “It’s just that I’m new to this,”

Chaeyoung looked at her from the edge of the bed, still standing up. “Like, with women...?” 

Tzuyu shook her head and closed her eyes. “No,” She said softly.

Chaeyoung tilted her head in confusion. “Huh?” 

“With anyone,” Tzuyu murmured.

 _“Oh.”_ Chaeyoung bit her lip. 

“No, it’s okay.” Tzuyu glanced at her and smiled. She can tell Chaeyoung’s nervous and apologetic. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Can you… come here?” She said hesitantly. 

She’s not used to this either, asking for somebody’s presence. It’s a bit embarrassing, but Chaeyoung doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Well,” Chaeyoung walked to lie down beside her. “I understand.”

Tzuyu nodded. She knows Chaeyoung understands; she didn’t even have to say so herself. This is the most bare she’s been in front of anybody, and it’s all different kinds of scary that she can’t explain, and the simple fact that she finds it daunting at her age is laughable, but also terrifying. _There must be something wrong with me,_ Tzuyu thinks. 

“Chaeyoung,” Tzuyu whispered. “I’m scared.”

Chaeyoung threaded her fingers through Tzuyu’s hair. “Of what?” She asked gently.

“Everything, Chaeyoung. I’m scared of facing the public... my job. My agency. My manager. I’ll be seeing them everyday and I’ll have to hide, be on my toes, because…” Tzuyu breaks off. There are tears forming in her eyes that she can’t help.

“Because?” 

“I don’t know,”

“Listen, Tzuyu. You are not just your job.” Chaeyoung said. She’s heard this before. _Don’t let your job kill you._

Chaeyoung continued, more sternly this time, “Being a model isn’t just about posing and letting people paint anything they want on your body. That’s called being a painting. And you are not an object. You...” 

Tzuyu started to sob as Chaeyoung talked. She could tell Chaeyoung’s angry, but not particularly at her. Still, it makes her heart feel lighter. 

Chaeyoung rolled to her side and poked Tzuyu on the chest with her finger, hard. “... _you_ , Chou Tzuyu, are not an object. _You_ are a _lesbian.”_

Tzuyu cried even harder as she gave Chaeyoung a merciless punch on the hip. Chaeyoung winced in pain, almost exaggeratedly, but she doesn’t say anything after that. 

They don’t talk for a while, and Tzuyu is only quietly sobbing as Chaeyoung waits. They’re both staring at the ceiling again.

“I hate you, Chaeyoung. I hate you so, so much.” Tzuyu said after a while. She kept her eyes on the ceiling. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“...the sex?” 

“No!” Tzuyu slapped Chaeyoung on the arm as a reflex. “I wasn’t supposed to like girls. I was just supposed to continue living my clean, _straight_ celebrity model life. But thanks to you, Chaeyoung, you ruined me.” 

Chaeyoung looked at her thoughtfully in silence. The air between them isn’t heavy per se, but there’s a lot to unpack. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean _you don’t think so!?_ ” Tzuyu spat back at her.

“I don’t think I ruined you.” She rolled onto her side again, resting on her elbow. “I don’t think I fixed you either. I think you just discovered your own person, and that’s great. I’m happy for you.” She placed her hand on Tzuyu’s collarbones, tracing the contours of it lightly. “But don’t credit other people for your own identity.” 

Tzuyu felt her knees start to tremble even while lying down, the weight of Chaeyoung’s arm on her chest pressing against her lungs, her vision of the ceiling slowly blurring with tears, again. If she wasn’t so stiff she would've hit Chaeyoung, or kissed her, or both. But she stayed still.

“I didn’t fix you, Tzuyu. Nobody can. Only you can do that.” 

“But still… things will never be the same. I am so broken,” Tzuyu started to cry softly. She buried her face in her palms, now wet with her tears. 

Chaeyoung stroked her hair and pulled her closer as she let Tzuyu cry onto her chest. 

Tzuyu took a breath. “Everything changed ever since I met you. Modelling became difficult. I couldn’t even stand being in my apartment alone, it was _so_ unbearable being there, it’s like I unlearned everything and I didn’t feel like myself anymore, and I had to learn everything again one by one. It’s so hard, and the worst part of it is that you’re right. I could never hate you.” Tzuyu confessed. She rubbed her hands on her face in an attempt to wipe her tears dry, but to no avail. Her hands were now completely wet with her tears. “No, the worst part is, deep inside, I think I liked it all along.”

“Mhm?” 

“Because I like you, Chaeyoung. And everything about you.” Tzuyu admitted. “I like how you do everything you want without caring about what anybody thinks. I like how you’re so full of wisdom, and how you’re so sure of yourself. I love how you can cut through the air with a single whisper. I want to live in your philosophies, I want you to take pictures and pictures of me until we both get tired and drop dead.” Tzuyu pauses to breathe. “You say I shouldn’t just let people do whatever they want with me but this is what I want. You are what I want.” 

“And your wish is my command,” Chaeyoung smiled. She gets up and tickles Tzuyu on the neck with a string of kisses, until Tzuyu is laughing, more freely this time, yet protesting. She holds onto Chaeyoung’s back anyway. 

_“Chaeyoung! Oh my god, not there- ahh,”_ Tzuyu whimpered. The tickling hurts, but it might be worth it for now, because she’s happy.

Tzuyu’s arms came around Chaeyoung’s neck as she buried her face in the crook of Chaeyoung’s shoulder. She felt like she could stay there forever. It smelled like somebody she promptly fell in love with over photoshoots, Korean barbeque, and unhealthy instant ramen. 

And her longing for Chaeyoung comes in waves, especially moments later, when she’s panting against Chaeyoung’s clavicles, and everything feels a bit clearer compared to a while ago, and Chaeyoung is holding onto her as tightly as she is holding onto Chaeyoung. 

It was at that moment Tzuyu realized that she was finally free. With Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, who first asked her, out of all people, _but what do you prefer?_ Chaeyoung, who gives life to bars around Seoul, and writes lyrics about love, freedom, and authenticity. And this is only the second time she’s done this, and she doesn’t feel like letting go anytime soon.

But all good things come to an end. The waves eventually stop when Chaeyoung detaches herself from Tzuyu and plops beside her in exhaustion, although the fluttering and bursting in her Tzuyu’s chest doesn’t really. Chaeyoung makes her feel like flying. For a moment, and for the first time in her life, she feels right and free. They weren’t mutually exclusive things anymore, as it had cornered her in the past– to be “right”, or to be free? There’s no answer to that anymore, because now she is both.

  
  
  
  
  
  


There are holes in the canvas, but she has splattered paint all over it now.   
  
  
  
  
  


Like a lot of events in Tzuyu’s life, everything that happens with Chaeyoung doesn’t really sink in until she thinks about it. It feels unreal, but understandably so; she’s not used to all of this: wanting, feeling, and reaching. Maybe feeling, yes, she has cried from a few movies and dramas in the past, but none of that was real. This time though, _it is._ Chaeyoung’s real. And the disbelief isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because what matters is Tzuyu is happy.

Yet, there’s an angry, entitled part of her that feels she had missed out on all of it, the supposed zest during her younger years. The juvenile infatuation, the first touches from a crush, the excitement of puppy love, and the helplessness and vulnerability of it all, entailed in the first points of contact to what she thinks is called love. 

It somehow feels unfair to have only felt it all now. There’s nothing to romanticize either, because it feels like she’s too late. What’s so beautiful about a defenseless adult losing control? It’s all suddenly hitting her like a freight train. 

On the brighter side, however, she now understands how she had been so closed off before: to the world, and to herself. Now she’s learning, and now, she’s her own person, too. It’s hard, but she’s getting there by herself. It’s easy to have somebody or something to blame, like the pressing milieu of her formative years, but it’s useless to do so. 

Tzuyu thinks about these things a lot, but more so when she’s with Chaeyoung. It leaves her in awe whenever she listens to Chaeyoung talk: how she can so easily speak about freedom, or doing praxis in desire. It somehow feels like Chaeyoung’s detached from the real world, although she isn’t. Chaeyoung is pretty much connected to reality. Chaeyoung is real, right here, and right now. With Tzuyu. 

And that’s what makes it so… Scary. Risky. Vulnerable. 

Beautiful. 

Modeling will be difficult for a while. Her pictures will most likely suck. She will have to learn everything she’s worked to absorb the moment she arrived in Korea. Everything she’s internalized about posing will disappear. She might lose gigs, connections, and even her job. _That is scary._

But this time, she will not be a mannequin. She will not let people paint all over her body, and she will show the world not a carefully constructed version of herself, but the fully authentic woman she is, and she will be her own person. _That_ is beautiful.

“I feel so naive when it comes to you,” Tzuyu blurted out of nowhere. 

Tzuyu’s in Chaeyoung’s apartment, like she usually is on the weekends, lying down on Chaeyoung’s couch while Chaeyoung either works on her music or her photography in her workstation.

“Hm?” 

“I finally feel like I’m alive, but at the same time, it’s scary. I feel clueless, like everything I’ve done was a mistake… how do you do it?” Tzuyu rambled. She sighed defeatedly, staring at the ceiling. “Doing everything so… positively?”

Chaeyoung smiled, shaking her head. “You’re not clueless, you’re learning,” She stood up and walked to the couch where Tzuyu was lying down, and crouched so her face was right in front of Tzuyu’s. She gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Tzuyu’s ears. “Honestly, you’re the bravest girl I know.” 

Tzuyu closed her eyes. _The bravest girl._ Suddenly she feels Chaeyoung’s lips on her own, gentle, guiding, and she smiles into the kiss. When they part, Chaeyoung stands up to lie down, beside Tzuyu, facing her.

It’s time for Chaeyoung’s afternoon nap.

Chaeyoung’s about to fall asleep amidst the lazy afternoon rays of the sun, until Tzuyu interrupts her slumber with a single thought.

_“You make me brave.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi... this has been in my drive for like 3 years now and im just glad im finally letting go of it... but i had so much fun writing this and it really means a lot to me... so if you got this far... thank u for reading... :) yell @ me @chaeyoungmoney


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